


Drago's Mount

by sarahenany



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 08:53:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12273066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahenany/pseuds/sarahenany
Summary: Which Toothless was, in the second movie. Short retelling of that missing scene, through Toothless' eyes.





	Drago's Mount

**Author's Note:**

> If I can figure out some way Hiccup sees this, through a dream or some blatantly transparent plot device, I might add a second chapter (because come on I'd be all over Hiccup being shocked that Toothless was treated that way but there wasn't any room for that in the movie with the tragedy that had just befallen them ughhhh) but complete for now. If anyone wants that, let me know?

What’s going on? What was… Where has he been?

Fighting…fighting… Drago… but… but what…

Toothless doesn’t _like_ this feeling.

He knows where he is now, he knows where he was before, but in between those two is a vacancy, like a bridge shrouded in mist. How did he get from there to here?

Even as he thinks this, he’s shaking his head to clear it and looking around.

He smells the wrongness before he sees it.

Fear. Incredulity. Grief.

Death.

Before him is his Hiccup, surrounded by his small human family. Even from here, he can smell that the pain is coming from them.

Behind him is a heavier wrongness, but he only has eyes for his humans. Stoick is unmoving. His Hiccup is… crying?

But… Stoick!

The wrongness presses down on him on all sides as he approaches, a sound escaping him. Stoick. Hiccup’s loud Viking father. An enemy who became a loyal and trusted friend.

It’s on him that he scents death. He noses at his hand, wishing – although wild animals don’t wish – hoping against hope that he is mistaken. He has a moment to gasp, seeking out any signs of life—

“NO! Get away from him!”

And his Hiccup slams both hands against his snout, and _shoves._

Of course those soft hands don’t hurt, but the shock turns his heart and limbs to ice. Hiccup has _never_ laid a hand on him in anger, not in all the years since they have met. Hiccup, who is gentle with all creatures, even those who have earned less-than-gentle treatment… has just _shoved_ him, roughly.

No, not shoved him… _pushed him away_.

It must be a mistake. Toothless moves in again. His human’s heart is breaking, he can feel it. Toothless aches to comfort him. Is this what’s known as the grief-madness? He has seen it before, in dragons who have lost a mate. Surely otherwise, Hiccup would have wanted him to be by his side?

His friend’s beautiful eyes are wild with rage and loss. He swipes at the air with his hands, as though pushing Toothless bodily away. “Go on! Get out of here!”

 _Hiccup, what’s wrong?_ He knows, of course. Stoick… He can’t gather his thoughts, his mind is clouded. _What happened? I care for him… He can’t be dead…_ But the scent of death is unmistakable. Toothless feels it like Viking iron piercing his heart.

Toothless cringes.

Why does he feel this way? Death is death. It shouldn’t _hurt_ so much. He looks up at Hiccup, not too proud to whimper.

“Get away!”

* * *

Toothless slinks off into the snow. Hiccup doesn’t want him. He has nowhere to go. All he can do is stay close and hope. Behind him, he hears Valka’s voice, and then Hiccup, letting out a gasp that hurts worse than a sob.

He feels a pain in his chest that humans call… He forgets the name. Reptiles have no name for it, but he feels it, throbbing and aching with each pulse of his heavy chest, a piercing vertical spike like a knife down his throat. And why is his mind so _heavy?_

His tail drags through a deep drift as he shakes his head. His mind is as blank and white as the snow he’s staring into. Toothless shudders. There’s something nebulous and frightening lurking just out of reach, on the edge of his consciousness. He doesn’t want to look at it too closely. He knows it has to do with – the chest pain intensifies – the reason his Hiccup sent him away.

FLY.

The Alpha’s command slips beneath his skin. For reasons he can’t understand, he cringes from the tight knot of family clustered around Stoick. The piercing in his heart solidifies.

 _Away. Get away._ He has to go.

In his shock, he’s forgotten he can’t fly on his own.

He tries anyway.

Once upon a time, he smashed the tail that let him fly without Hiccup. Once upon a time…

He flutters, crashes to the ground, floundering. _Hiccup has sent him away._

What will he do now?

FLY.

When the command pushes down on his mind again, it’s almost a relief. He pushes back, more out of the customary bullheadedness he’s learned from his Viking other-half than anything— _fly fly fly flightless—_

He crashes.

FLY.

His mind is forfeit. Just as well. It’s a relief from the grief that packs his chest and limbs with blank weight.

But he can’t fly.

His wings are strong. They beat down powerfully—but the grasp on the air slips and he lands, face-down, flapping and flailing like a lost thing. He rises again, but flounders in the air, drowning, crashing into the snow. FLY, comes the command, and he tries, rising up again, as high as he can—

This time, it isn’t the ground-pull that snatches him from the air. A sharp pain in his neck cuts through his mind-fog, and a _yank._

 _Down!_ Toothless hits the ground, choking— _air—_ Then his shoulder spikes with agony. His mind wavers, the pain in his shoulders piercing the blank whiteness of his mind and lancing through to connect with the pain in his heart. For an instant, he can see. Snow. Vikings. Dragons. The great Alpha, its command blurred as he blinks his mind. Half-inside, half-outside, Toothless’ consciousness wavers.

Pain. A blow. He can fly now. A weight on his shoulders, heavy. His tail works, rudder, lift. The great Alpha’s mind is still pressing down on his. FLY, it says.

But Toothless can’t fly with his mind blank. Other dragons can, but not him. Not without Hiccup in the saddle, for he and his friend are one, and he doesn’t need conscious thought to fly with his friend at the controls. But this heavy intruder is forcing his mind to be present, not to crash, to obey the command of FLY.

“Stay in the air, dumb beast!” a hateful voice spits above him, and in his neck is _pain_ again.

FLY. Toothless tries to blank his mind to obey the command. The world fades, the Alpha’s will the only thing that remains. He follows it automatically—

 _Pain._ Toothless roars in agony, the hard, sharp thing feeling like it’s piercing his skull. He pulls up, his mind coming back—to find himself falling. _The pedal’s wrong!_ With conscious awareness, Toothless jerks his flank to compensate, once, twice, getting another blow for his pains, then finally, the intruder’s foot works the pedal. His tail grips the air, and he rises.

FLY, says the Alpha. “Stupid animal! MOVE!” roars the ugly presence riding on his back, striking him again. He tries to find a compromise, the Bewilderbeast’s great will pressing his mind into blankness, his consciousness compensating for the rough and crude yanking on the pedal. He manages to align his conscious mind with the Alpha’s…

And it hits him.

* * *

 

Memory rushes in, from _everywhere at once._

_What what what—_

Through his own eyes, at the time, he knew nothing. Everything was blurred, broken images. The weight of his Alpha pressed down and flattened his mind into a featureless blank: _kill kill kill._

But now he’s conscious, he sees what was really there, not the fevered projections of his controlled mind. He sees Hiccup, eyes earnest and pleading, trying to get through to the monster he turned into. Hiccup, _his_ Hiccup, his own beloved human, raising his hands in fear! Fear of _him!_

And worse – the worst – the Alpha’s bird’s-eye view shows what he became: a black, menacing shadow, bat-wings spread, vacant eyes staring lethal menace. Hiccup walking backwards, stumbling and falling. _Falling!_ The boy he has always sworn to protect, the friend he would defend with his life. The dark shape from the Alpha’s vision haunts him. If Toothless saw such a threat to his Hiccup, he would kill it. Without thought, without mercy.

Hiccup’s hands are outstretched, his eyes all entreaty. Not supplication, but appeal to the love they share.

 _Used_ to share _._

Toothless watches in horror, seeing through both the Alpha’s eyes and his own, as Hiccup stumbles backwards and falls, never drawing his sword. He knows, watching the horrific scene, that Hiccup will die rather than use his weapon against him. Hiccup always shows mercy. His soul is filled with kindness, always has been. It’s Toothless who’s the harder of the two. Hiccup always sees the best in others, always gives second chances, always forgives. And against his other half, that kindness becomes a melting tenderness impossible to describe if one has not felt it. It’s as unthinkable for Hiccup to draw his sword against Toothless as it is for—for Toothless to ever—to ever…

_Pain. Pain. Pain._

Toothless blinks. His memory hit so hard he’s forgotten to nudge the human riding him into working that stupid pedal, and they’re plummeting. The man—Drago, he remembers now—is striking his head mercilessly over and over. “FLY! Useless animal! Fly!”

FLY, says the Alpha.

His wings flap half-heartedly. _No,_ he resists. Why should he? If he falls into the sea, Drago will drown, most probably. Toothless won’t try to swim. Stoick will be avenged. His son… Well. It’s the least Toothless owes Stoick’s son, even if he never knows it.

He probably doesn’t deserve to call Hiccup by his name, now. Not after this.

_Click._

Without warning, Toothless’ tail unfurls and he rights himself and flies, with a howl of despair. Drago’s figured out how to work it himself. And the Alpha’s command presses down on him, and the sharp thing hooks into his collar, choking him, and Toothless levels off. He wails his desolation as Drago engages the pedal and they wing towards Berk.

The command, FLY, invades his mind, shouldering his thoughts aside. But he still can’t be one with this intruder on his back, and treacherous tendrils of thought keep returning. Thoughts of deliberately crashing, causing both their deaths. He tries to jerk sideways, and the metal hook strikes him in the face. The pain is good: it helps jerk him out of the Alpha’s control.

He tries again.

Toothless doesn’t want to die. No animal does. His instinct is to keep breathing until he can’t anymore. But… He _deserves_ death. Both human and animal kingdoms demand his life be forfeit. In human society, he would be sentenced to death. In the animal kingdom, the mate or young of the tribe’s Alpha would kill the one who murdered him.

Mate… or young.

Toothless’ greatest fear has always been Hiccup dying, or abandoning him…

No. His greatest fear has always been this: to die by Hiccup’s hand. He knows in his heart that Hiccup would never do that, but nevertheless, in his worst nightmares – the one he won’t admit even to himself – something comes between them, and then… He could never use his fire against his dearest one. He would lower his defenses, lay his chest open for Hiccup to… to _finally…_ cut out his heart. And that wouldn’t even be the worst pain. Before the blade had finished cutting out his heart, Toothless would have died a thousand times over to see hatred on his human’s face.

The same hatred he saw today. “Get away” repeats itself over and over in his mind. And now… He should keep himself alive for Hiccup to kill, but he selfishly can’t imagine himself having to watch as the being closest to his heart delivers the fatal blow.

By now they’re nearly at Berk. In a last desperate attempt to end this, he closes the living half of his tailfin and plummets.

Drago roars, like a dragon. A pain worse than anything he’s felt before makes him pull up, thudding rather than crashing to the sandy dirt. “Stupid BEAST!” Drago leaps off his back, and Toothless’ saddle is jerked again. This time the yank doesn’t choke him – Hiccup took pains with the design to make sure that however it was pulled, it wouldn’t obstruct his breathing – but with his massive strength, Drago uses the hook to swing Toothless around, the man’s huge body a fulcrum, smashing the dragon against a rock. Toothless lands heavy and helpless, breath knocked out of him. The hook disengages from his flying gear—and comes down on his body. His ribs sear and he shrieks. “I’ll break you in…” Drago growls. This time it’s his head, wood and metal against his skull. But Draco’s not finished, whacking the weapon down on Toothless’ torso and legs, threatening to crack bone, “… teach you to respect your master.”

The Alpha presses against his mind, and he can’t fight back, helpless to just lie there and take it. Drago beats him everywhere but his wings. Perhaps, Toothless thinks as he roars out and flutters helplessly, perhaps this is what he’s earned. Perhaps he deserves it.

* * *

 

The rain of blows finally stops. Toothless’ eyes have just opened when a boot impacts his face, cracking his neck to the side. For a moment he thinks he’s been dealt a fatal blow. But the kick was just a final gesture to vent Drago’s anger: the giant figure recedes, striding off towards the dark shapes of his men, blurry outlines in Toothless’ pulsing vision. The deep voice recedes, still bellowing orders.

 

Toothless is left alone, trembling and groaning in the snow. Everything hurts, and he’s so _cold._

A rush of longing fills him. Before he can stop it, he finds himself aching for the comfort of the soft human hands that always, always soothe him when he’s hurt. _No._ He doesn’t have the right anymore. But despite this knowledge, Hiccup’s absence spreads like death through his chest, turning his lungs to stone. The throbbing deep in his bones is nothing to it, nor the burn of cold on his scales. Toothless curses himself for learning to rely on Hiccup. He shouldn’t have grown dependent: it’s not only shameful, but dangerous for a predator. But it was so tempting to just reach out for Hiccup to soothe him and love him, always there, constant as the stars, always giving with all his heart. Hiccup would never hurt him. Would never…

…the phantom sensation of those soft hands shoving him away pierces his heart, more painful than the worst of Drago’s bone-cracking blows. And the worst of it is this: Hiccup was justified in doing this, would have been justified in drawing his sword and cutting Toothless’ head off. Toothless used his fire against Hiccup’s family, now become his own family. He killed Stoick. He almost killed _Hiccup._

He almost _killed_ Hiccup. _His_ Hiccup. He _would_ have killed him, if Stoick hadn’t taken the shot for him. Suddenly, he wants Drago to come back and beat him more. The piercing throb in his bruised bones is satisfying. He wonders if Hiccup would agree to do this instead of killing him. He would lie passive on the ground and let Hiccup beat him with a mace, break his wings, cut off his tail, snap his spine, if it would satisfy his best friend enough for Toothless to see love in his soft eyes again. If he could hear one last word of affection before the final blow that avenged the man who had been a father to both of them.

He wonders if he could ever be punished enough for Hiccup to forgive him.

Toothless buries his face in the snow, roaring in despair. Hiccup, with his heart full of compassion, would never beat him, and it would be unfair to ask of his bright, pure friend to do such a thing. Hiccup is too good to do anything but kill him cleanly, mercifully, in payment for the life of Stoick the Vast.

 _Stoick._ The booming-voiced Viking was like a father to Toothless too. He squeezes his eyes shut against the grief—the yearning—that suddenly twists his heart. He’s been used to having so much for so long, and now he’s thrown it all away. He repaid Hiccup’s friendship and Stoick’s kindness with ferocity and murder.

Will he die under the Alpha’s control before Hiccup finds him? It would be a good thing if he did: his friend wouldn’t have to have blood on his hands. Hiccup’s body is frail, but his will is stronger than Toothless’. He would have resisted the Alpha’s mind. He…

The blank white pressure of the Alpha’s mind covers his pain. It’s so sweet to be free of the weight of grief that he surrenders with barely a whimper.

* * *

Things are heavy. There’s a red haze in his vision. He can barely see. It’s easier to obey. There’s nothing around him but FLY.

It’s easier that way. Toothless knows that beyond that mindless command, safely held back by the fuzzy, thick barrier, are grief and pain and regret.

So he flies. It’s painful to hover for so long, but he’s trained to do it _(with someone, he flew with someone, he trained with someone)_ and he can—

“Toothless?” The sounds scrapes at the edge of the thick, white blur. Who’s Toothless?

“It’s me, bud.” The human-sound is vaguely familiar. Something in him flickers. “It’s me.” The sound is soft as a mother crooning to her clutch. The blank white is pierced with an aching, familiar—

_Hiccup—_

Blank white.

“I’m right here. Come back to me.”

Toothless pushes back against the white. Is it… He should know the voice—He just _had_ it a second ago—

“It wasn’t your fault, bud. They made you do it.”

Toothless trembles. The human words are something he should recognize. He focuses through the red fog. He can see a fish under the ocean at fifty wingspans, he can see this.

 “You’d never h—hurt him.”

The break in Hiccup’s voice, like a hairline fracture, slashes through the blank whiteness in a great bloody gash. Wide, brown eyes. Soft words. Toothless can’t ignore it. It’s his human. It’s his _Hiccup._

“You’d never hurt me.” Tenderness trembles in this phantom Hiccup’s tone. If Toothless could hear that love once more, he could die content. Why? Why is the sweetness of his human’s old name for him haunting him now? He could almost imagine he sees him through his thick, clouded vision.

And then Hiccup touches him.

His eyes may play tricks, his hearing may be deceived, but the _scent_ of his human floods through his veins and tells him his Hiccup is _here._ He’s _here_ and his scent says _please love me._ He doesn’t want to avenge his father’s murder. He’s speaking of love and forgiveness. Is this the madness that they say precedes death? Toothless almost blinks away the whiteness in his urgency to tell if this is some fond desire of his own dying brain.

The whiteness surges, crushing him for a moment—but only for a moment. When he pushes through again, his senses are filled with his human, his scent underlain with _pain grief urgency_ but saying incontrovertibly _need-you need-you don’t-leave-me stay stay stay love love forgiveness_. And beneath that, leaving no room for doubt, is an undercurrent of _claim! mine! claim! mine!_ strong as any dragon’s scent-mark. And his hands are still here, soft and familiar and beloved, clutching at Toothless’ snout, his voice filled with all the need and love in the world. “I won’t leave you,” he promises. “I won’t let you go.”

The vow is pure devotion, and it wraps around Toothless like a mother’s wings. Toothless opens his mouth, and a sound of affection comes out. He doesn’t understand how Hiccup forgives him, but the words of absolution from not a moment before are thrumming through his body, and _Hiccup is here_ and _Hiccup needs him._

He may die in the next moment, but he can’t not reach back. His head is bursting with the effort when Hiccup’s voice whispers to him, breaking with tears. “You’re my best friend. My best friend. Please. Come back to me…”

How can he ignore that call? He rushes through the fog, and Hiccup is there, love in his face and his scent and his touch, and his friend screams with joy to see him.

And then he falls.


End file.
